


Paraskavedikatriaphobia

by Chibiness87



Category: The X-Files
Genre: But they're not admitting it, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff, Humor, teeny tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: He really hates this date





	Paraskavedikatriaphobia

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when curiosity gets the best of me...

**Paraskavedekatriaphobia** , by **chibiness87**  
**Rating** : G  
**Season/Spoilers** : None. Set somewhere late season 6, but pre Biogenesis.  
**Disclaimer** : not mine.

* * *

 

 

They have been stuck in WhoEvenKnows, Wyoming, for the past three days chasing leads on a missing person’s case. Two teenagers who hadn’t been seen since allegedly ‘popping out’. Not uncommon, but when the first night had passed, and then a second, and no contact had been made, well. Reports had been filed, and assistance requested. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have even passed their desk, but one supposed eyewitness had said something about lights in the sky, and another had mentioned strange messages appearing in the fields, and well, here they are.

Stuck in what passes for the local Sheriff’s office, two no-longer-missing teenagers on one side of the table, two slightly annoyed FBI agents and one mightily pissed off Sheriff on the other.

The teenagers at least had the common sense to look somewhat abashed, although Mulder senses that was more because of how they were found, not the finding itself.

Being picked up for hitchhiking back to town by said Sheriff after a whatever-equivalent-to-a-desert-they-had-out-here rave had lasted well over the expected time was arguably the most stupid aspect of this whole case, and with it their missing person’s case had come to a sudden and abrupt end.

They won’t go as far as saying it’s disappointing; the teenagers had, after all, been found safe and relatively unscathed, needing nothing more than a decent meal and a hot shower and a change of clothes. And maybe a lesson that leaving a note saying ‘Popped out, back later’ may not go as far as assuring worried relatives as they thought it would.

But still.

Lights.

Crop circles.

The enthusiasm Mulder had been portraying had dimmed the moment they had landed; Scully already calling the whole thing a fake. After a tense drive out to the reported abduction sight and supposed crop circles, and he had had to agree with her.

But there was still the case of missing teenagers, and they had stayed.

He wonders just how much trouble they’ll be in when they get home. Skinner had been twitchy for the past couple of weeks; this case was supposed to help them calm him down again. Instead, they had three days’ worth of expenditures and flights and investigations because two boys wanted to, in the immortal words of The Artist Formally Known As Prince, party like it was 1999.

Which, well, it was, but didn’t exactly help their cause.

Statements taken, case officially closed, supernatural element eliminated, they head back to the motel to pack. After so many years of working together, they have the pack up system down to a T, and it doesn’t take them long to check out, and head back to the airport.

By mutual agreement over a coin toss, Scully is driving, and Mulder is tasked with the delightful duty of trying to get them back to DC without feeling like they can drive there quicker. Managing to secure them on the next flight out, having to go via Denver but figuring anywhere is better than here, Mulder gives out the company bank details and hangs up.

The drive to the airport takes another hour, and they pass the time like they normally do; he tries to explain the importance of crop circles, and she shuts him up with a patented Scully glare. Over the years, it has gotten to be quite effective. Not that he plans on ever telling her that.

Not that he has to.

Eventually, they make it to the airport, and signing over the rental is quick and painless, for once, and they make their way in to the terminal to pick up their tickets, only to be met with signs all over the shop stating, due to a technical problem, all flights are currently grounded.

Great.

Making their way to the departure lounge, they manage to grab two seats together, and while he shrugs out of his coat and attempts to make himself comfortable in chairs not designed for the human body, she goes on a caffeine run.

It is only once most of the cup of somewhat decent coffee has been consumed that he puts it down, finally meeting the eyes of his concerned partner.

“You know, I really hate this date.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to her in over an hour, beyond the occasional direction when she was driving. Not that she needed it, but the silence kept encroaching, and it seemed like the safest option. Scully blinks at him, a twitch at the eyebrow letting him know she is somewhere between amused and concerned. “What, 13th August? Why?”

Mulder shakes his head, taking another sip of his coffee. Voice still flat, he sighs. “No. Not 13th August, Scully.”

Her eyebrow gets higher, if possible, and he lets his head rest back against the top of the seat, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. “Could be any month. Any month where the 13th is a Friday.”

She grins at him. Soft and serene, and it makes his heart jump like it is has done since the very beginning, right back to _Actually I’m looking forward to working with you_. “Seriously Mulder?”

He nods earnestly, and it makes her twist in her own seat so she is facing him. “Why?”

“Nothing good ever happens on Friday 13th, Scully. There are whole superstitions about that date for a reason, you know. A phobia is named after it. Paraskavedekatraphobia. Sometimes known as Friggatriskaidekaphobia.”

She sighs softly. “Mulder.”

But he is on a roll, and even her soft rebuke won’t stop him this time. “I’m serious, Scully. The number thirteen has been seen as unlucky throughout history. Across religions. The… the last supper, and Apollo 13. Did you know Philip IV of Spain ordered the Knights Templar to be arrested on a Friday 13th?”

Scully looks away from him, taking a sip from her coffee. “Yes, well, sometimes I think there are times when people are just plain stupid.”

This time, it is him who twists in his seat. “Not about this, they’re not.”

Cup apparently empty, Scully throws it in a gentle arc into the bin the other side of him. Her eyebrow is raised again, exasperation in her tone. “Oh come on Mulder. Be serious.”

Emptying his own cup, it follows hers into the bin. Overhead, a speaker announces the resumption of flights, and wonders of wonders, theirs is actually being called to a gate. As they gather their belongings, he gets nudged from behind, ending up sprawled over the seats they had just left. Scully lets out a snort of laughter, before biting her lip to stifle any more. Mulder sighs. Picking himself up, he shoots her a glare. “Thus proving my point. I’m telling you, Scully. Friday 13th is a cursed day. Noting good has ever happened, and never will.”

She waits while he shrugs on his coat, the humour in her gaze gone. There is an undercurrent in her tone he can’t quite place. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Finally settled, he grabs the handles of both their carry-ons, head pointing the way to their gate. “No? Why not?”

Scully stops, and so he does too, wanting, almost desperately, to hear what possible scientific reason she has for him this time. Completely serious now, she keeps her eyes fixed on his, and he swears he has never seen this shade of blue. Well, maybe once, in a hallway in a time that they never talk about. “You were born on a Friday. I’d say that was something pretty damn good.”

She smiles gently, taking her own carry-on from his hand. He gawps at her retreating figure for a moment, heart beating hard in his chest, before hurrying to catch her up. Resting his hand on the spot of her back he claimed as his eons ago, he is rewarded with her soft gaze, and he returns it, feeling the pull between them get closer. One day, soon, he might even get up the courage to tell her he wasn’t lying when he told her he loved her.

They board the plane without any further hassle, and once they’re settled, she shocks the hell out of him by leaning over and kissing him lightly on the cheek. He glances at her, question obvious in his eye. She smiles that soft smile again, before shrugging her shoulders slightly, and he can tell by her eyes she must be blushing slightly. He smiles back at her, and just like that the moment is over and they are them again.

_Maybe_ , he thinks, as the plane gets airborne, _Friday 13 th isn’t such a bad date after all_.

* * *

 

End

Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I have no problem with Friday 13th. My sister and her husband were both born on that date. But curiosity got to me, and when I found 13th October, 1961 was actually a Friday too, well. This pretty much wrote itself.


End file.
